


All the water in the rough rude sea

by lightningwaltz



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry V - Shakespeare, Richard II - Shakespeare, Second Tetralogy - Shakespeare
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Divine Right of Kings, Hal will always get an arrow to the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: Richard has some questions for his wayward heir.
Relationships: Henry V of England & Richard II of England
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	All the water in the rough rude sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> Hello blueteak!
> 
> I loved your prompt about about an AU where Richard II manages to stay king and makes Hal his heir. I decided to kill off Bolingbroke for that to happen, and to have Richard make Hal his heir as a way to appease Bolingbroke's faction. In the process I realized all the subsequent Henrys would shift back a number, and that made me laugh!
> 
> I also spent a lot of time reminding myself of all the real life histories of these characters and decided Hal should still get shot with an arrow, even if he was younger and if it was a different war.
> 
> Thanks for the thought-provoking prompt!

Prince Henry of Monmouth - heir to King Richard the Second, and linchpin of the tentative peace between all of England’s factions - currently looked like something that had been dragged out of the sewers. 

Richard soon discovered that this private observation was all too literal. As servants deposited a senseless Hal into his bed, a guardsman explained that the prince had been discovered lying in some disreputable alleyway. For several long moments, Richard stared at the dirt and wrinkles on Hal’s clothing, and the way parts of his hair happened to be matted against his skull. Such a display would have made more sense several years ago, when the prince had learned that Bolingbroke had succumbed to an illness on his way to depose Richard. Hal had been pale then, too, but he had immediately proposed that he be declared Richard’s heir. He had explained to Richard - who, himself, had felt as though he had been carved out of ice - that such a display of unity would save them both. 

Thus far, Hal’s instincts had been proven correct.

Now an order was on the tip of Richard’s tongue (Bring in some new clothing! Bring in a bucket of water, the icier the better!) But then he looked closer at his cousin's son and thought the better of it. 

“Then let us leave him. It will not take long until he feels as though an axe has cleaved his skull. He will doubtless wake up then.” 

He didn’t have to repeat his orders twice, nor did he expect to have to do so. Other than the worst gossip mongers, few servants wanted to bear witness to the royal family’s foibles and squabbles. In his self-aggrandizing moments, he assumed they felt unworthy to see such vulnerability. On most days, though, he simply believed they wanted to avoid getting ensnared in the tumult. He could understand that, though. 

Richard was the last to leave the room, and he didn’t close the door all the way. Scarcely breathing, he waited and peered through the part that remained ajar. Soon enough, Hal rewarded his patience. He sat up quickly in bed, not at all like someone afflicted by too much drink. In response, Richard strode into the room and stared at his cousin. He didn’t need to speak; his meaning was plain. 

All the same, Hal tried to prevaricate. Richard had rarely seen the prince interact with Henry Bolingbroke, but the boy must have run circles of rhetoric around his father. 

“I woke up from an unpleasant dream,” Hal said. Naturally, he turned his face away as if in shame. Of course, it displayed the arrow’s scar he took in Richard’s service. As if Richard required the reminder. 

“It must have been a strong dream, indeed, to so effectively erase the effects of drink.” 

Perhaps Hal hadn’t run circles around Henry at all. There were many times Richard wondered if his cousin simply never received pushback at all. He wondered this now as Hal just stared at him. 

“It was one of those dreams where suddenly you feel as though you’re falling from a great height and it feels as though your heart has leaped from your body,” Hal said, at last. “That is why I woke so rapidly.” He winced - pretended to wince - and Richard was not fooled. 

“Your filthy clothes are real enough,” Richard said. “I will speak further with you regardless, but I will wait until you are fit to be present before a king.” 

*

Hal might be prone to lying, but he was also prone to obeying commands. When Richard returned to Hal’s chambers, the prince had changed his garb and wiped the dirt off of his skin. 

Richard had spent the past hour or so thinking about how many of his forebears had been succeeded by a son or a grandson. As a result, one’s kingly and paternal ambitions became intertwined. His relationship regarding Hal simply did not fit into this mold. God had seen fit to give him authority over Hal as his king, but their branches in the family tree were simply too far apart for him to enact any sort of fatherly authority over his heir. If anything, their affiliation seemed more akin to some of the ancient Caesars who could designate a junior ruler that would one day succeed them. Not that Hal was doing much in the way of governing. 

Richard had tried to shake those associations away. After all, those had been decisions made by pagans who had run far afield of the Lord. 

“Hal,” he began, after they both sat across from each other. 

Hal bowed to him in his seat. The gesture should have looked sardonic. It did not. 

“Your majesty.” 

“You were sober when I came to you, but I’m well aware that you are drunk more often than not these days.” 

Once again Hal had his head bowed at that slightly odd angle. Up close, it’s much easier to see the webbing of scar tissue on his cheek. Hal not yet been the designated heir when he’d received that wound, but Richard had ordered the physicians to treat the boy as if he were the king himself. Then he’d watched the whole gruesome business as they subjected Hal to a treatment of honey and alcohol. It was a wonder Hal could still touch the latter. 

Perhaps he struggled with it silence. Perhaps the sharp scent of wine reminded Hal of blood and limitless pain.

Maybe God had been speaking to Richard then, letting him know that his cousin was meant to be his heir. Perhaps the seedling of that idea had been in the far reaches of his mind as he’d watched the physician finally sew up Hal’s face the way a seamstress might repair a tattered tapestry. The Lord wove the fates of men in a similar way, and kings were embroidered into the fates of nations by that divine hand. It was strange to look at Hal and catch a glimpse of the future to come. He wondered if his cousin could feel God’s needle hovering above their heads. 

“You can look at me. I hope you realize that.”

“Ah, but I’ve heard the ballads comparing you to the sun. I have no desire to go blind.”

Richard let out an undignified snort. “Yes, the court musicians have been rather maudlin lately. Is that why you turn to drink, cousin?”

Hal did raise his face then. “My uncle has also expressed concern about my affairs.” This was not an edifying answer. 

“Which one?” Inwardly Richard cursed John of Gaunt’s prodigious virility. 

“One of the Beauforts.”

“Poor lad,” Richard said. “I had a surfeit of uncles and that was bad enough. You have had a surfeit of uncles _and_ great-uncles.” 

“That is true.” 

Too many individuals of royal blood rather reminded Richard of an estate covered in ivy. While it might look grand from afar, if you ventured closer you would see that those weeds were strangling the plants that bore fruit. 

Due to this reminder of their tangled family lineage, Richard found himself returning to the ancient world. 

“Although England has a multitude of charms, this island is not Capri. You are not Caligula, and I’m not interested in persecuting you like a Tiberius might.” 

Hal let some of his surprise slip through once more. Some day he would temper that, and Richard couldn’t decide if that would be a triumph or a tragedy. Then again, such things could go hand-in-hand. 

“I didn’t think you were.” His words sounded so genuine that Richard immediately grew suspicious. 

“Then what plot are you weaving, here? One can easily become inebriated in their own room. There’s no need to go roving across the city with that Falstaff.”

“Perhaps I enjoy Falstaff’s company.” 

“Perhaps. You also appear to equally enjoy being seen in a pathetic state. You had far too much pride as a youth. Why do you intentionally bring yourself low, unless you wish to instill pity? If so, I recommend you take up arms. You will not drink yourself onto a throne.” 

Strangely, Richard’s suspicion was devoid of any anger. He was still sure that God had chosen this young man (out of all the princes that dotted this kingdom), and it would be a pity to see Hal drown in wine before he could claim his destiny. 

Hal grew as pale as he had been when he had been carried back into the palace.

“Ah, no. No, no, no. You have it all wrong.” 

“Then tell me how I should have it.”

His cousin looked down at his hand like he wished to find a cup of wine there. Thus denied, he sighed heavily and spoke as if every word pained him. It was oddly reminiscent of how he’d whispered while his arrow wound healed. 

“There are still people who favored the idea of my father ruling, you know.”

“I do.” Oh, did Richard know. 

“Early on I can see in their eyes they’d transferred their loyalty to me. If I’m to become king, I don’t want it to be because his majesty, say, tripped down the stairs in a very convenient way. I don’t want the man who might push his majesty to his death to then install me on the throne because I share my father’s blood. And so, for now I try to appear as mediocre and dissolute as possible, in order to keep such ambitions at bay.”

Once again, Richard’s flesh seemed frozen. Strange. They were currently in the very heart of summer. 

“Alright. Pray tell, then … What happens when you ascend to the throne and everyone knows you as an unreliable wastrel?” 

“I’ve thought that through as well.” As Hal spoke his words were gaining strength, the way a fire burned brighter as it tore through the forest. “Most kings begin their reign with a great deal of good will. It’s like starting one’s journey from the edge of a cliff. One would naturally careen into the valley below. I prefer to start from the valley, even if I have to climb my way to the top. If everyone is too amazed at seeing me success, it will keep them from plotting for a while.” 

Richard thought he should be offended. Maybe he would become offended in time. Instead, he thought about the times he’s seen illustrations of every star in the sky. Those artists had had the ability to cast their gaze far ahead in time and space. His young cousin seemed to have a similar mind. 

It was impossible to know what such a mind might do with the throne, and Richard found himself wishing that he could bear witness to it. It was proof, still, that God held this kingdom firmly in His control. 

“So, your grand plan requires that you drink to excess, and cavort around town with some of the worst of the worst?”

“Yes.” 

“That’s very convenient for you, cousin.” All the same, Richard couldn’t keep the fondness from his voice. Although the years had been chaotic, the two of them had held this kingdom together. He had faith that Hal would continue to do the same long after Richard was gone.

"Have I miscalculated, though? Do you worry that others will believe you are mistreating me?"

"I am at ease." And he was. Now that Richard had been thoroughly reassured, he wanted nothing more than to observe Hal bend England to his will.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too sure how well-versed they would have been with the lives of ancient Romans in this era, but Shakespeare obviously was. So I decided that the references fit the tone of canon well enough.


End file.
